


songs of yesterday

by crookedlove



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Post-Season/Series 07, Season/Series 04, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, when will i go easy on myself and write established relationship?? only time will tell, will tag as I update but
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:34:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27569908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedlove/pseuds/crookedlove
Summary: He doesn't bother crying out; no one is coming.Dean fumbles for the lighter he knows is in his pocket, and Lazarus rises from the dead once again.or, the post Season 7 time travel fix-it that no one asked for.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 21
Kudos: 157





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So this fic has been haunting me for over a year now; I started writing it last December and have just been pulled all the way back into the fandom after we got canon deancas!! Yeah. This is for all you destiel clowns, you beautiful, beautiful fools… let’s see if Dabb brings it home next Thursday, okie dokie? If not: voilà: the time travel fix it fic that is the result of my adoration of time travel fix it fics and the current status of sanity (or, rather, lack thereof. Anyone else being kept awake at night by The Scene?) Huge shoutout to [supernaturalwiki dot com's episode transcripts](http://www.supernaturalwiki.com/Category:Transcripts%5D), because despite my developing track record of writing fix it fics, I do ~~mostly~~ enjoy the vanilla show and its vanilla dialogue.  
> Speaking of: recognizable dialogue comes from 7.23 Survival of the Fittest.

The head of the Leviathan dressed in a lab coat comes off cleanly, and Dean watches as Dick Roman turns, crumpling up a container of instant creamer in one hand with the movement, to face him and Cas.

“Little abrupt…” Dick remarks calmly, “but okay.” Dean sheathes his machete while the Leviathan fixes his eyes on Cas. “Castiel. Good to see you again. Thanks for the ride into paradise.” Dick's eyes flick to where Dean is extracting the sharpened and bloodstained bone from his jacket. “And good on you! Pulling that together? A-plus.”

“Oh, you don't think this'll work, do you?” Dean moves closer to Dick. “You trust that demon?”

“You sure I'm even me, Dean?”

“No,” Dean replies, shaking his head. “But _he_ is.” He tilts his head back towards Cas, who has been watching the exchange unfold silently. Dick's smile stutters on his face before fixing itself into more of a grimace. “See, here's the thing when dealing with Crowley: he will _always_ ”—at this Dean waves the remains around—“find a way to bone you,” he finishes.

“This meeting's over,” Dick declares, dropping his eye contact with Cas and his expression of forced good humor at once, beginning to step with purpose towards Dean.

Dick doesn't get a chance to do anything more than take that one step, however, before Cas is roughly shoving Dean behind himself and subsequently getting thrown across the room with the full strength of an angry Leviathan. He crashes into a stack of SUCROCORP boxes and crumples to the ground. Dick watches his handiwork with satisfaction, then turns to face Dean. For his troubles, Dick gets a bone thrust through his heart, Dean stumbling back and praying to… something... that this plan works.

But Dean watches with a distant kind of horror as Dick removes the black goo-covered bone from his chest and _snaps!_ it in half. He tosses the two pieces to either side of him, and asks, “Did you _really_ think you could trump me?”

“Honestly?” Dean replies, withdrawing Sister Mary Constant's actual remains from the literal and figurative right side of his jacket and intently ignoring the movement from behind the Leviathan. “No.” At this, Cas grabs Dick's head and tilts it back in time for Dean to jam the late Sister's bone horizontally through the Leviathan's throat.

The double doors to the room burst open as Sam and Kevin, both looking slightly worse for wear but _alive_ , join the fray. Dean and Cas both step back as Dick convulses, a tortured and prolonged groan ripping out of him.

“Figured we'd have to catch you off guard,” Dean informs Dick, a trickle of triumph beginning to make its way through him as the thought of a hunt—and a bluff—well done starts to seep in.

But.

Dick roars, his true face—the grotesque, wide open mouth filled with countless sharp teeth and an elongated tongue—appearing and whipping back and forth as his death knell fills the room before he abruptly falls silent. The whole room is quiet for a beat, two, Dean's eyes fixed on Dick as he grimaces with just his human face, aware of Sam and Kevin in his peripheral and Cas behind the Leviathan, and black ooze leaks from Dick's nose and mouth and neck as his face softens into smugness, and that's when the first pulse hits Dean. The second pulse, Dick grinning with a heretofore unseen mania. Threefourfivesix pulses, the room rumbling. Seveneightnineten, and the rumbling and pulsing stops. 

The room is quiet except for the unhinged cackling emitting from Dick, whose face is twisted into a moue so unpleasant that it sends Dean's own pulse through the roof, before—

Dick explodes, Dean barely getting an arm up to shield his face, 

and  
the  
world  
ends.

(again)

***

Dean wakes to a claustrophobic and complete darkness.

He breathes in, the air stale and warm, before realizing it's not the darkness that feels so confining, but instead the space itself. His eyes dart around uselessly, before—

No.

Dean's memories come back at once, Dick erupting into black goo, Dean way too close to him, Cas just behind the Leviathan, Sam and Kevin to one side, then—

Much further back, waking up in a pine box and _clawing_ his way through the sun-drenched earth, the blast site around his—

_No._

He doesn't bother crying out; no one is coming.

Dean fumbles for the lighter he knows is in his pocket, and Lazarus rises from the dead once again.


	2. here is the road, and there is the story of where the road goes, and then more road

Through the haze and the heat, Dean heads to the abandoned gas station. 

Again.

His head spins and aches, thoughts flung dizzily about this way and that, incomplete and incoherent, fragments of questions—what? why? _how?_ —floating through his mind.

He keeps walking.

*** 

The glass shatters with a well-placed blow, just as it did before, and Dean grabs the same water bottle and slakes his thirst with the same enthusiasm, just as he did before. He already knows what date the newspaper will read, but picks it up anyway.

September 18th, 2008. The day he was pulled out of Hell. 

Dean braces himself against the cashier's counter as a laugh starts to bubble up from deep inside him, hoarse and hysterical, until he has to wipe away the tears and grime covering his face. He spends a moment hunched over after the outburst ends, before mentally steeling himself for the final test. Dean slowly walks to the bathroom and faces the mirror. Reflected back is his face, definitely younger, eyes slightly wide with apprehension. He narrows them, unable to fully tamp down the trepidation, and rolls up the left sleeve of his t-shirt.

The bright red and raw handprint stands out against his otherwise unblemished skin, and Dean closes his eyes briefly before heading back out into the main part of the shop. He carefully doesn't think too hard about all that he's facing, both imminently and in the future—or is it the past? And isn't _that_ a trippy thought he _really_ doesn't have time to consider now—as he mindlessly grabs some snacks and energy bars and water, shoving them haphazardly them into a plastic bag. Dean doesn't bother stealing cash from the register like he did last time, but instead braces himself. 

The radio sputters to life, static filling the otherwise silent store. Dean ignores the salt on the shelf nearby, and covers his head— and, more importantly, ears— as the static gradually turns into a whine before blowing out the windows, glass shattering all around him. The noise reaches its peak before abruptly cutting out, and Dean dusts off the broken glass and makes his way outside, bag of food and water in hand, the door swinging shut behind him.

Dean's heart stutters, stops, restarts as he remembers what he did last time: call Sam, then _Bobby_. And isn't that something, Dean contemplates as he hotwires the same car, the knowledge that Bobby is only a phone call and a mere 9 hours drive away, in his wonderfully unburnt home. He pretends the water dripping down his face is only sweat from the oppressive Illinois sun, and carefully shoves all thoughts about anything except getting to Sioux Falls to the back of his mind before driving away from the destroyed field and windowless gas station shop.

***

Dean pounds on Bobby's door until it swings open, the older hunter's face crinkled with that familiar annoyance before smoothing out with complete shock. 

Dean smiles nervously. “Surprise?”

“I—I don't,” Bobby replies, backing up, and Dean catches him going for the knife, and says, “Yeah, me neither.” He steps into the house, tensing in anticipation, before continuing, “But here I am.”

Bobby lunges forward with the knife, but swipes at thin air; Dean rises from his swift crouch and catches Bobby's wrists in his hands. He tightens his grip on Bobby's hand with the weapon in it until it clatters to the ground. The older hunter backs up towards the kitchen, and Dean says, “Bobby! It's me.” He slices his arm with the silver knife, wincing slightly. “I'm not a revenant, or a shapeshifter. Your name is Robert Steven Singer. You became a hunter after your wife got possessed, and... you're about the closest thing I have to a father.” Dean pauses, able to take in the look of diminishing disbelief and growing hope properly this time around. “Bobby. It's me.”

They're in the kitchen now—again—and Bobby quietly says, “Dean?”

“That's what I've been trying to tell you.”

Bobby's composure breaks, and he pulls Dean into a tight hug which is returned with double the strength, the weight of the past few months—years, really—and all of the countless losses and hurts and betrayals uncoiling slightly from his spine. The two separate, and Bobby shakily says, “It's—it's good to see you, boy.”

“You, too,” Dean says with feeling.

“But… how did you bust out?”

Dean hesitates, before replying, “I don't know. Woke up in a pine bo—”

Ah. He forgot about the holy water. Dean turns to spit it out, and he dryly says, “I'm not a demon, either, you know.”

“Sorry,” Bobby says, slightly sheepish. “Can't be too careful.” He tosses Dean a towel, which Dean takes gratefully and wipes his face with.

The two of them head back to Bobby's living room, the older hunter saying, “That don't make a lick of sense.”

 _You don' t even know the half of it._ “Yeah, you're preachin' to the choir,” Dean replies.

They're now standing on opposite sides of Bobby's desk. “Dean, your chest was ribbons, your insides were slop, and you'd been buried four months. Even if you could slip out of Hell and back into your meat suit—”

“I know, I should look like a Thriller video reject.”

“What do you remember?” Bobby asks.

Dean bites back both the _too freaking much_ and the _not nearly enough_ that hover behind his teeth. “Not much,” he says instead. “I remember I was a hellhound's chew toy, and then... lights out. Then I come to six feet under.” He pauses, hesitating slightly. “That was it,” he finishes. 

Bobby sits down, and Dean knows that's his cue to ask about Sam. “So, uh… Sam. He okay? I couldn't reach him before.” _In more ways than one._

“Oh, he's alive. Far as I know.”

“Good,” Dean replies. 

“Haven't talked to him for months, though.”

Dean tries to muster up the same incredulous tone as last time as he says, “You're kidding, you just let him go off by himself?” He has a feeling he doesn't quite manage it. 

“He was dead set on it.”

He doesn't have time to point fingers, Dean knows, and frankly he doesn't care to. Bobby must read something in his face, since he says, “These last months haven't been exactly easy, you know, for him or me. We had to bury you.”

“Why'd you bury me, anyway? Why not a hunter's funeral?”

“Sam… wouldn't have it. Said you'd need a body when he got you back home somehow. That's about all he said.” Bobby pauses here, before admitting, “He was quiet. Real quiet. And then he just took off. Wouldn't return my calls. I tried to find him, but he didn't want to be found.”

“Yeah, well. We'll find him, but I don't think he was the one to get me out.”

“What makes you say that, boy?”

“You should have seen the grave site. It was like a nuke went off. And then there was this—this force, this presence, I don't know, but it—it blew past me at a fill-up joint. Never seen any demon do somethin' like that. And then this.” Dean once again rolls up his left sleeve, showing the handprint off to Bobby who quickly stands.

“What in the hell?” The older hunter exclaims as he approaches Dean.

“No clue. Let's find Sam, though, see if he knows anything. Even if he didn't make a deal, him acting off is reason enough to be suspicious.” It's not even a lie, more of a not-truth.

***

They go through the whole Wedge-Antilles-and-proximity-to-grave-site song and dance again, and then head to the Astoria Motel. The whole way there, Dean wars with himself over what to do with the whole Ruby situation. He doesn't want to get Sam's hackles raised this early, but the sooner his brother gets away from that demon bitch and off her blood the sooner they can deal with… well, everything. Heaven and Hell and Lilith and Alastair and Lucifer and Michael and the damn _Apocalypse_ and every terrible thing that comes after: Raphael, the civil war in Heaven, Cas' betrayal, the Leviathan—

Dean cuts off that train of thought real quick. _One step at a time,_ he placates himself. _I know how things are supposed to go this time around. If I can get Sammy on board sooner, Cas to switch sides quicker… things will be different. I'll fix it all, even if I die trying._

They're at Room 207 by the time Dean comes back to himself, to 2008, and the door swings open to reveal—

“So, where is it?” _Ruby._ Dean is proud of his lack of reaction, honestly. He can't wait to kill the bitch again.

“Where's what?” he asks, playing along, playing dumb. He has a feeling he's gonna have to get used to that. 

“The pizza…” Ruby says slowly, “that apparently takes two guys to deliver?”

Dean and Bobby exchange glances. “Must be the wrong room,” the latter concludes, before Sam steps into their line of view, saying, “Hey, is…” and then stopping dead when he sees just who's at the door.

Dean takes in his little brother, hair wet from the shower and eyes wide from the shock, and swallows down all of the feelings running through him at the moment. He'd nearly forgotten the sting of this betrayal in light of everything that went down with Cas and his lies the past year. There will be time for it later, he knows, time to hash all of their shit out—him, and Sam, and Cas. 

For now, he swallows it all down, and quietly says, “Heya, Sammy.”

Sam says nothing, and Dean steps into the room, ignoring Ruby. Sam pulls a knife and lunges at Dean; Ruby screams, Bobby pulls the brothers apart, holding Sam back as he shouts, “Who are you?!” and struggles against Bobby's restraining arms. 

“It's me! It's Dean!”

“It's him,” Bobby says, “I've been through this already. It's _really_ him.” 

Sam stops struggling and Bobby loosens his grip. “What…?” Sam says dazedly.

Dean approaches him. “I know. I look fantastic, right?” 

Sam looks on the verge of tears, and Dean feels it like a knife to the gut. Sam pulls him into a desperate, clinging hug, and Dean returns the embrace. 

“So, are you two, like… together?” Ruby interjects. Sam turns to her in surprise, like he'd forgotten she was there. 

“What? No. No! He's my brother.”

Dean hadn't remembered how good of an actor each of them were, but they sure had him fooled the first time around. He tamps down his anger as Ruby says, “Uh, got it. I guess.” There's an awkward pause. “Look, I should probably go.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that's probably a good idea. Sorry,” Sam says apologetically, and both he and Ruby go to put on more clothes. Bobby raises an eyebrow at Dean, who shrugs.

Once Sam and the demon bitch are both dressed, Ruby telling Sam, “So, call me,” and Sam replying, “Yeah, yeah, sure thing, Kathy,” and Ruby informing him with an affronted air, “Kristy,” and Sam sheepishly responding, “Right,” as he shows her out the door, Dean watches the whole exchange closely. _Was this rehearsed?_ he can't help but wonder. _How much of my return from Hell—my return to my_ brother _—was fucked up by these lies and these secrets? And for what? A hit of demon blood for some psychic crap? For revenge?_

By the time Dean's musings end, Sam has parked himself onto the motel room's couch and is looking at Dean like he can scarcely believe he's there. Dean turns so he doesn't have to look at his brother, and Bobby takes this as his chance to ask, “Are you out of your damn mind, y'idjit?” 

Sam looks offended. “What are you talking about?”

“Did you make a deal?”

“I—what?”

“A _demon_ deal, boy? Did you or did you not make a deal to get Dean back from Hell?”

“What? No!”

Dean scoffs, channeling some of his anger over Sam and Ruby into his, well, acting. Sam scowls, stands, and angrily says, “Look, Dean, I wish I had done it, all right? I tried, okay? I tried _everything_. I tried opening the Devil's Gate. Hell, I tried to bargain, Dean, but no demon would deal, all right? You were rotting in Hell for _months_. For months, and I couldn't stop it. So I'm sorry it wasn't me, all right? Dean, I'm sorry.”

Dean sighs. “It's okay, Sammy. You don't have to apologize. I believe you.” 

Dean can feel Bobby's eyes on him, probably wondering how he knew before, but the older hunter just says, “Well, don't get me wrong: I'm sure gladdened that Sam's soul remains intact, but it does raise a sticky question.”

Dean sighs again. “If he didn't pull me out, then who—or what—did?”

***

Sam catches Bobby up on what he's been doing since Dean went to Hell, and refreshes Dean's memory. He mostly contributes to the discussion by rote, but when Bobby says, “I know a psychic. A few hours from here. Something this big, maybe she's heard the other side talking,” Dean can't hold back his exclaimed, “No!”

Both Bobby and Sam are looking at him like he's gone off the deep end—rightly so—and Dean scrambles to find a way to keep Pamela out of this. An idea clicks into place, and he blurts out, “Castiel.”

“What?” Sam asks him, with no small amount of suspicion. 

Dean looks at his brother, then Bobby, then says, “I didn't know how to tell you before, Bobby, but when I woke up in that box, I had that word in my head. Castiel.” Dean looks between the other two, hoping they're buying the load of bullshit he's selling. They both just look confused, so Dean plows on, “What do you think it means?”

Bobby looks at him consideringly. “Sounds like a name.”

“Well, it's something,” Dean says. “Right?”

“Yeah, guess so. I'll leave some of my contacts messages, see if they can figure out what the hell a 'Castiel' is.” Bobby nods, satisfied with having a plan of action, and exits the room.

The two brothers are quiet for a moment, before Sam starts. “Hey. You probably want this back.” He reaches under his shirt collar and pulls out Dean's amulet. Dean looks at it, the hurricane he's kept trapped in a butterfly net this whole time threatening to consume him, before taking it from Sam. 

“Thanks,” he says lamely.

“Yeah, don't mention it.” Sam responds, and Dean pulls the cord over his head for the first time in years and feels it settle against his chest with bittersweet familiarity. “Hey, Dean? What was it like?”

Dean swallows, then honestly answers, “It was Hell, Sammy. I'm just glad to be back.”

Sam nods. “Yeah, thank God for that.”

“Yeah,” Dean replies. He can hear Bobby in the other room on the phone, and turns to Sam, saying, “You mentioned a bunch of demons holed up around here. Let's check that out tomorrow, huh?”

Sam nods again. “Sure thing.”

***

The next day, they head into town to see if they can sniff out the demons. Dean's exhausted; he'd spent most of the night awake, trying to pin down the timeline. He's already changed things, like taking Pamela out of the equation and avoiding Johnny Mac's diner, but Dean has a feeling they'll run into those demons—or others—sooner rather than later. If he's being honest, though, Dean dedicated most of those sleepless hours to thinking about Cas.

He can still recall with startling clarity the way Cas busted—literally—into his life the first time around. The way the angel saw through him in an instant, the head tilt that preceded the question that rattled Dean to the core: _you don't think you deserve to be saved?_

Dean swallows, brought back to the present—past— _whatever_ —by Sam calling his name. It sounds like he's done it a few times before he finally got Dean's attention.

“Yeah?”

“You good, man?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I'm good,” Dean assures his brother.

Said brother looks skeptical, and Dean remembers the last first time they were back in the Impala when he last first got back from Hell, remembers questioning Sam over Lilith and if he was using any of his _freaky ESP stuff_ and Sam lying to him. 

He stops remembering.

“Hey, what do you say we stop for lunch? I could go for some food.”

Sam laughs. “You can always go for food, Dean. Good to know Hell didn't change that.”

Dean smiles at him, but it feels brittle, like his face could shatter if he isn't careful. 

He pulls into the first vaguely diner-like place they come across, glad for the reprieve from family interviews about recent disappearances and the chance for some real food. It'll be the first diner food Dean's had in a while, the rabbit food Sam picked out and strange sandwiches Cas provided the last fresh grub he's eaten. They'd left Bobby digging through police records, so it's just Sam and Dean entering the joint. The two of them settle at a table, and Dean flips through the menu, satisfied when he finds both burgers and pie. 

The diner is pretty empty, but Dean's glad for it when Sam asks, “So?”

Dean glances at him, askance. “What?”

“What do you think this—this _Castiel_ is? If it's no demon, what is it?”

Dean shakes his head, which Sam incorrectly interprets as, _hell if I know_ instead of _not even getting into that now_ , and continues, “It sounds like a name to me, Dean.”

“Yeah, maybe. And with the right mumbo-jumbo we could try to summon him, bring him right to us.”

Sam looks at him like he's crazy, then says, “You're crazy. Absolutely not.”

“We'll talk to him. Or if he's not in the talking mood, we'll... work him over.”

They quiet down as a waiter appears, and takes both of their orders. The brothers continue their conversation.

“You really think having a face to face is a good idea?” Sam questions. “After what you told me about the grave site, that—that _brand_ he left on you? He's got some serious power, Dean, and we should be smart about this.”

“You got a better idea?”

Sam nods. “We follow the trail the demons left, find them. Someone's gotta know something about something.” Their waiter appears with two plates of pie, and as he pulls up a chair and sits at their table, Dean instantly recognizes this for what it is. Sam, none the wiser, asks, “You need something?”

“No,” the waiter replies, “but I think you do.” His eyes flick to black. Dean glances around and confirms that the other people in the restaurant—the hostess, the other lone customer, and the line cook—are all demons as well, before the waiter addresses him, saying, “Dean. To Hell and back. Aren't you a lucky duck?”

Dean smiles, razor-sharp. “That's me.”

“So you get to just stroll out of the Pit, huh? Tell me: what makes you so special?”

“I like to think it's because of my perky nipples,” Dean echoes his quip from last time. The waiter just looks at him. “I don't know. Wasn't my doing—I don't know who pulled me out.”

“Right,” the demon says with a healthy dose of skepticism. “You don't.”

“No. I don't.”

The demon regards Dean as if he's a particularly annoying bug that needs swatting. “Lying's a sin, you know.”

“I'm not lying,” Dean lies, “but I'd like to find out, so if you wouldn't mind enlightening me, Daisy…”

“Mind your tone with me, boy. I'll drag you back to Hell myself.”

Sam shifts, and Dean holds his hand up to prevent him from jumping the mook. Sam settles back in his seat, glaring daggers at their waiter.

“No, you won't,” Dean asserts.

“No?”

“No. Because if you were, you would have done it already. Fact is, you don't know who cut me loose. And you're just as spooked as we are. And you're looking for answers. Well, maybe it was some turbo-charged spirit. Or, uh, Godzilla. Or some big bad boss demon,” Dean says. “I'm guessing at your pay grade that they don't tell you squat. Because whoever it was, they want me out. And they're a lot stronger than you. So go ahead. Send me back. But don't come crawling to me when they show up on your front doorstep with some Vaseline and a fire hose.”

The demon looks at Dean with eyes full of barely suppressed rage. “I'm going to reach down your throat and rip out your lungs.”

Dean leans forward and slaps him once, then again. He thinks Sam isn't even breathing. But just like last time, the demon does nothing but glare at them, looking more and more nervous.

“That's what I thought. Let's go, Sam,” Dean says, and they stand, leaving the demon sitting there, fuming. Dean pulls out some cash and drops a ten dollar bill. He holds it up and drops it on the table like an insult. “For the pie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Recognizable dialogue comes from 4.01 Lazarus Rising. Chapter title from Road Music by Richard Siken.  
> The diner Sam and Dean eat at is a real place, called the [Pontiac Family Kitchen.](https://www.zmenu.com/pontiac-family-kitchen-pontiac-online-menu/) They've got fruit pies _and_ cream pies, so Dean would be thrilled, I'm sure. Dean got a bacon cheeseburger, Sam got the Greek salad, and I got far too invested both finding a plausible place in Pontiac for them to eat and about the food they ordered.  
> Dean calls the demon waiter Daisy, as in Daisy from Mystic Pizza. And I've made the demon a man, because while demons are indeed bad, Dean, stop slapping that lady, ffs.


	3. the very condition of existence

Dean says nothing as they walk away from the demon-filled diner, but Sam can't seem to help himself, asking, “We're not just going to leave them in there, are we, Dean?”

“Well, yeah: there's three of them, probably more, and we've only got one knife between us.”

“I've been killing a lot more demons than that lately,” Sam replies, and Dean is again reminded of how much of an idiot he was the first time around.

“Not anymore,” he says. “The smarter brother's back in town.”

“Dean, we've got to take 'em,” Sam insists. “They're dangerous.”

“They're scared. Okay? Scared of whatever had the juice to yank me out. We're dealing with a bad mofo here. One job at a time.” By the time Dean makes that proclamation, they've made it back to the Impala and are in their respective seats. Dean tells Sam to call Bobby and inform him they've found the demons and to meet them back at the motel to regroup. Sam does as he's told without complaint, but the muscle jumping in his jaw suggests he's not thrilled with the current plan of action. _He'd better get used to that,_ Dean thinks to himself, and they peel away from the diner.

***

Later, much later, after Bobby has been brought up to speed, after Dean pretends to fall asleep, after Sam sneaks out of the motel, Dean sits up. He grabs a notebook out of his duffel, and starts writing. He's only got one shot at making this right, after all, and all of the information he has knocking around his head should be written down. 

Dean's just finished outlining the important stuff, the real milestone events, when the TV turns on and spits out static. Dean debates telling Cas to cut the shit, he obviously can't hear him like this, but the radio whines and Dean mentally rolls his eyes at the histrionics. The noise in the room grows to that high high pitch, and Dean covers his ears just in time for the mirror above the bed to shatter. Bobby rushes into the room as the rest of the glass in the room gets blown out, and shouts, “Dean!”

Cas pipes down eventually, and Dean grimaces as he remembers the ordeal with Jimmy and Amelia and Claire. He jots that detail down and underlines it before turning to Bobby, casually asking, “Up for a ride?” 

Bobby raises his eyebrows—whether it's about Dean's sudden interest in keeping a diary or the mess of glass scattered everywhere, Dean doesn't know—but wisely says nothing, only asking, “You driving, or am I?”

***

Bobby's driving, obviously, because _Sam took the damn Impala._ Forget drinking demon blood; this is his little brother's most grievous offense. Dean wipes his own blood off his face.

“How you doin', kid?” Bobby asks him. 

Dean grimaces, knowing Bobby will blame the expression on only about half of what's wrong at the moment, because this errand? This is what he's been dreading the most.

“Aside from the church bells ringing in my head?” Dean asks, recognizing the painful irony of his phrasing. “Peachy.” He pulls out his phone and calls Sam.

“Hey,” Sam says.

“What are you doing?”

“Couldn't sleep, went to get a burger.”

“In my car?” Dean needles.

“Force of habit, sorry,” Sam apologizes. “What are you doing up?”

“Well, uh. Bobby and me are gonna grab a beer. He's gonna catch me up on what he's found out about this Castiel thing.” Bobby is staring at Dean with an incredulous look on his face, and Dean holds up a hand to stay the questions for the time being.

“All right, well, uh, spill some for me, huh?”

“Done. Catch you later.” Dean hangs up and turns to face Bobby.

“You know I couldn't dig up jack or squat on this thing. Why the hell didn't you tell him?” Bobby demands to know.

Dean sets his jaw. “Because he'd just try to stop us.”

“From what?”

“Summoning Castiel.” Bobby is still looking at him like he's nuts, so Dean continues, “It's time we faced this head-on.”

“You can't be serious!”

“As a heart attack. It's high noon, baby.”

“Well, we don't know what it is. There's no lore on the name, but it could be a demon. It could be anything!”

“That's why we've got to be ready for anything,” Dean responds, pulling Ruby's blade from his jacket. “We've got the big-time magic knife, you've got an arsenal in the trunk…” He trails off.

“This is a bad idea.”

“Yeah, I couldn't agree more, but what other choice do we have?” Dean asks, ten different kinds of dread curling cold fingers around his spine. 

“We could choose life!”

“Bobby, whatever this is, whatever it wants, it's after me. That much we know, right?” Dean implores. “I've got no place to hide. I can either get caught with my pants down again, or we can make our stand.”

“Dean, we could use Sam on this,” Bobby counters.

Dean can't hold in his scoff. “Nah, he's better off where he is.”

***

It's the same abandoned barn they arrive at and subsequently scribble all over. Dean finishes laying out their gear on one table despite knowing it won't do them a lick of good, and knowing it won't need to. He glances over at where Bobby is completing a complicated squiggle of a sigil. “That's a hell of an art project you've got going there.”

“Traps and talismans from every faith on the globe. How you doin'?”

“Stakes, iron, silver, salt, knife,” Dean lists. “I mean, we're pretty much set to take care of anything I've ever heard of.”

“This is still a bad idea,” Bobby informs him, making his way over to Dean.

“Yeah, Bobby, I heard you the first ten times. What do you say we ring the dinner bell?”

Bobby nods with obvious reluctance. He goes over to one of the tables, takes a pinch of some powder from a bowl, and sprinkles it into a larger bowl. It begins to smoke, and Bobby begins to chant in Latin.

***

Dean forgot how damn long it took for Cas to show up. He and Bobby are sitting on the tables, and Dean, for one, is tired of waiting.

“You sure you did the ritual right?” Dean can't help but poke at Bobby, and a fierce ache ricochets through him at the older hunter's expression. Dean's missed him. “Sorry. Touchy, touchy, huh?”

Finally, the roof begins to rattle, the panels flapping up and down. The two hunters grab a shotgun each, and retreat to the back of the warehouse. 

“Wishful thinking, but maybe it's just the wind?” Dean shouts over the cacophony. Bobby doesn't get a chance to respond, however, since the doors burst open and in walks Castiel.

Ever the dramatic, the lightbulbs overhead burst, sparks raining down over the angel as he approaches the two hunters. Bobby starts firing rounds into Cas, but Dean doesn't bother; it won't do any good, and he figures Bobby is too distracted by the chaos to notice Dean's lack of an itchy trigger finger for once.

This memory is so imprinted in his brain that Dean doesn't even have to review what he's supposed to say. “Who are you?

“I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.”

Dean swallows and says, “Yeah, thanks for that.” He doesn't bother going for Ruby's knife, but Bobby does; he plunges it into Cas' chest, and looks almost offended when it does nothing. Cas pulls the knife out and places it on the table; Bobby doesn't get a chance to comment on this sequence of events, because Cas touches two fingers to the older hunter's forehead and he goes down like a lead balloon, like the first time.

Dean doesn't bother checking for a pulse; he knows Cas just put Bobby to sleep. He's grateful for it, because Cas turns to him and says, “We need to talk, Dean. Alone.” 

_Couldn't agree more,_ Dean privately thinks, then finally meets Cas' eyes.

And.

...Hang on.

If there was a quiz of the events that have thus far taken place in Dean Winchester's life, he's certain he wouldn't ace the whole thing. Despite having literally been there for all of it, Dean's recall isn't perfect. The mooks he's put down over the years all begin to blur together, and they're the same at their core, right? But Dean knows some parts of the epic tragedy that's his life down to the last detail: that last fight between his dad and Sammy and him before Sam left for Stanford; the words his dad whispered about putting Sammy down if it came to that; the hellhounds tearing into him and dragging him down; the way he had to claw his way out of his own grave—twice, now; the light in Saint Mary's Convent as Lucifer was sprung from his cage; the hollowed out look in Cas' eyes as they drove to kill the Devil in the post-Apocalypse future that never was; the sound and heat of the explosion that took Ellen and Jo from them; the way the ground yawned open and swallowed Sam and Adam; the betrayal of Sam's soullessness; the betrayal of Cas' lies catching up to them all; the image of the Leviathan crawling under Cas' skin as he demanded they bow before him; the slight smile on Bobby's face and the flatlining of his heart when he died; the roar Dick let loose before exploding and sending Dean back in time… 

And Dean remembers the look in Cas' eyes when they first met, the placid calm as the nerdy-looking guy in a trench coat proclaimed himself an angel of the Lord and spread his wings as mighty shadows, _and Dean doesn't remember Cas looking at him like that,_ not yet, not until after the first time they trapped the angel in a ring of holy fire, not until he sat across from him and played _Sorry!_ and tried not to think of what kind of twisted metaphor they were living, not until they _knew_ each other, not until Cas had spent enough time with the Winchesters to learn a thing or two about guilt.

Dean's mouth is very dry, all of the sudden, and he swallows, then rasps, “Cas?”

***

Castiel remembers everything as soon as he possesses Jimmy Novak.

By that point, it's too late to take it back. Castiel doesn't know why he's here, but perhaps his Father saw it fit to punish him by putting him back at the start of everything—the start for him, at least.

“Daddy?” a voice says from behind him.

Castiel closes his eyes and—not for the first time—curses his Father. 

“Go inside, Claire,” he says quietly, before stretching his wings and flying to a warehouse containing his past, present, and future.

***

_“Cas?”_

Castiel has believed himself to be impervious to most surprises, but the shortening of his name catches him off guard. He examines Dean Winchester closely and finds he looks the same—body and soul—as he did the first time they met, but the recognition in his eyes is definitely not the same.

“...Dean,” is all the angel can think to say in response. Dean's face crumples with equal parts disbelief and relief. 

“That you, man?”

“Yes,” Castiel replies. “I think it is.”

“Fuck,” Dean says, voice cracking. He turns away from Castiel for a moment, scrubbing a hand over his face, before facing the angel. “You—remember, then?”

Castiel nods, torn between dropping his gaze to the ground in shame and needing to reassure himself that Dean is here with him, that this is the Dean who caused him to rebel, who fought alongside him against fate and destiny, who he betrayed in countless ways with his lies, who he didn't realize was his family until far too late. 

But.

Maybe it's not too late.

“So, Dick explodes all over both of us and we get sent back in time?” Dean asks, a note of incredulity creeping into his voice.

“It seems so,” Castiel confirms. Dean barks out a laugh.

“Fuck,” he repeats. A thought seems to occur to him, and Dean asks, “Why did you try your angel-speak on me this time, huh? You knew I wasn't one of those 'special people', man, so why the theatrics?”

Castiel shakes his head. “I didn't remember until I took Jimmy as my vessel.” 

Dean raises an eyebrow. “Huh,” is the extent of his response. He visibly collects himself, squaring his shoulders as he asks, “So, what gives, man? Why are we back here?”

Castiel can only shake his head again. “At first I suspected this was my Father's punishment for my crimes, but I don't believe He'd be so cruel as to make you live through my penance.”

“I dunno, God works in mysterious ways, right?” Dean ponders aloud, then seems to tense. Castiel tenses, glancing around—unsure whether he's expecting a Leviathan, or Zachariah, or any of the other countless obstacles they've faced together to appear—but is interrupted by Dean questioning, “Hang on, _penance?_ What's that supposed to mean?”

Castiel stares at Dean, knowing he could not have misheard him but doubting his vessel's ears regardless. “Dean,” he begins, “I betrayed you—betrayed Sam, betrayed Bobby, betrayed the entire Host of Heaven—and you ask why I deserve to be punished?”

Dean just looks at him, and seems to choose his words carefully as he asks, “Cas, you still dealing with Sam's scrambled eggs?”

“No.”

Dean is looking at Castiel in a way that's hard for the angel to describe. Disbelief, anger, fondness, grief, something unfathomable and with a depth that frankly astonishes Castiel visibly war for prominence on Dean's face. His expression eventually settles on determination, and he says, “Listen to me, Cas, 'cause I'm only gonna say this once.” Castiel's eyes haven't left Dean's, but he nods once, all of his attention fixed upon the hunter. “I can't say I forgive you, okay? But being back here, remembering all the lies Sammy and me lived with for so long… it's giving me some perspective, all right? I meant what I said before in that lab: there's a lot of bad water under the bridge, but we're family. So I might not forgive you, man—not yet, for sure, and maybe not ever—but you're stuck with me. We're in this together.” A shiver runs down Castiel's borrowed spine at the sight of Dean's eyes, and he wonders if Dean knows how they shine with his devotion. “So,” Dean continues, “I plan on rightin' some wrongs this go around, whether we were put here for—for penance, for another reason, for _any_ reason, by God or Dick or somethin' else… but I say we make the best of a messed up situation. You in?”

Castiel can't do anything but nod in response, ready to follow the Righteous Man—no. Ready to follow _Dean_ through the flames once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recognizable dialogue comes from 4.01 Lazarus Rising and 6.22 The Man Who Knew Too Much. Chapter title from Manon, Ballerina by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry.
> 
> I'll be updating this as I write the chapters from now on! They're plotted out, just need to be written down. I'd say expect a new chapter in about a month, but who knows? Maybe the muse will strike sooner.


	4. the trees and the trees and the space between the trees, swimming in gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel _aches_ for this man for whom the burden of saving the world has fallen upon once again.

Castiel is loath to leave Dean in this strange new-old world alone, but Dean firmly tells him to get lost.

“Look, man,” Dean says. “Much as I’m glad you’re from the past—or. Future? Huh. Well, what I mean is I’m glad you’re already on my side here, Cas, but I don’t think we should tip our hands too early?”

They’re still standing in the sigil-covered barn, Bobby crumpled on the floor but sleeping peacefully. Castiel considers him, before snapping his eyes back onto Dean. “You don’t think it wise to inform Sam and Bobby?” he asks.

Dean sighs and scrubs a hand over his face, looking far more tired than Castiel remembers him to be when they first met. “Bobby’ll come around if we tell ‘im, but probably not right away. I need him in my corner _now_ , ‘specially since we know what’s ahead.”

Castiel nods, waiting for Dean to continue. When no further words pass through his lips, Castiel prods, “And Sam? What of him?”

Dean’s face darkens, a stormcloud of anger and hurt passing over his countenance before smoothing out. “Sam? He won’t have a problem believing me. My brother’s _problem_ ,” Dean stretches the word out and seems to roll the next ones around before speaking: “My brother’s problem is that he’s guzzling demon blood on his psycho revenge mission.”

Ah.

It’s been so long since Castiel thought of Sam as _the boy with the demon blood_ ; too much has passed between the Winchesters and himself that Castiel doesn’t find the memory of Sam’s circumstances cropping up in his day to day life on this Earth. Sam is just… Sam. An ally. A friend. A brother.

The problem, of course, is that Dean still knows Sam better than Castiel ever will. He decides to let Dean take the lead, but first: “Sam needs to stop ingesting the blood.”

“Yeah, you think I don’t know that, Cas?” Dean snaps. “That’s fucking priority number one, okay? Detach Sam from Ruby and her schemes and we might have a shot at preventing Lucifer from getting sprung.”

Castiel is dismayed to push back on this point—one that he knows to be a sensitive one for Dean—but, ignoring the twisting in his stomach, he tentatively reminds his friend of a very important fact. “Dean, the Apocalypse is already in motion. Despite our best efforts, we may well be on the same path as last time. After all,” Castiel hesitates, but pushes through his discomfort. “After all, the first seal has been broken.”

Dean’s face seems to collapse inwards at his words, and Castiel _aches_ for this man for whom the burden of saving the world has fallen upon once again.

“I know, Cas,” the Righteous Man says hoarsely. Dean clears his throat. “But all we gotta do is stop Lilith before 65 seals break. As long as she ain’t killed at St. Mary’s as the final seal, she won’t be alive to break it and the Cage will stay shut. Right?” 

The naked hope in Dean’s eyes cuts through something within Castiel. “Perhaps,” he allows, not willing to say one way or another. He is, at least, able to give Dean what he hopes is somewhat of a comfort: “Regardless, we’ll do this together.”

Dean nods, shoulders relaxing slightly from the tense posture he’d held ever since Castiel first walked in. Castiel is gladdened he could at least do that much for his friend. “Yeah, Cas,” Dean confirms, a slight smile illuminating his face. “Together.”

***

Castiel had left shortly after, promising to check in on Dean the next night. He’d also reminded his friend that he need only pray and Castiel would come. They both knew the rising of the witnesses was the first trial the hunter would face, and Dean had grimaced when reminded of that fact. 

“It wasn’t pretty,” was all he said of the matter, seemingly dreading the task ahead. 

Castiel flies to the top of Nanga Parbat, needing some perspective. He steps into what he knows is frigid air, and subtly creates a moment out of time so he could _think_.

Clearly, he and Dean—and Sam and Bobby, when they were told—have a momentous task ahead of them. The very fate of the world rested in their hands. Castiel only hoped the four of them were strong enough to withstand the brunt of all that would test them in the weeks to come.

Castiel wonders how he can ease this burden for Dean.

He flicks through his recollection of the first time around, trying to stop seals from breaking while dealing with a much less agreeable Dean Winchester, all the while fighting against the evil forces within Heaven. Castiel contemplates this, searching for any potential allies amongst so many enemies. 

There are so few who would be willing to help them amongst the angels; Balthazar, perhaps, but Castiel is unsure of how loyal his friend would be in this matter, especially before the book has been torn up. No, Balthazar would rather side with the likely winners in this war, and Castiel recognizes that the Winchesters and Bobby Singer wouldn’t look much like winners to those not especially familiar with them. He discards Gabriel for the same reason, knowing the archangel hadn’t intervened until the very last minute the first go around. However, Castiel doesn’t entirely dismiss the idea: Gabriel was willing to help in the eleventh hour, so it wouldn’t be entirely out of the realm of possibility.

All others from his garrison seem unlikely: even Rachel, his former lieutenant, was far too trusting in the plan Heaven laid out for them until seeing the alternative. Castiel stares hopelessly down at the Fairy Meadows, his ability to see the grassland aided by his celestial sight, before he’s struck with an idea.

***

Anna Milton looks stressed.

That’s Castiel’s first impression of his sister as he invisibly observes her go about her day, traipsing across campus with a furrow in her brow. He wonder how much she’s hearing from the angels.

It’s afternoon in Ohio, and the college green hums with a quiet sort of energy. As Castiel follows Anna, he debates on how to best go about this. 

Castiel knows it’s important he speaks with his sister first, before she can be found by the other angels or demons and hunted. He reasons he’ll have a few days before he’s forced to make a move, and wishes to speak with Dean before he does so. Castiel figures Dean may have some ideas on what to do, seeing as he and Anna were—close, the last time.

Right. Dean. Castiel sighs, the reality of the situation creeping back in. He takes flight again, leaving Anna Milton behind as she fumbles in her backpack for some headache medicine to block out the voices of her past.

***

Castiel, still invisible, arrives at Singer Salvage Yard. More specifically, he lands in Bobby’s kitchen. To his surprise, the Winchesters and Bobby Singer are sitting at the table, exhaustedly eating a meal despite the clear signs of some kind of struggle having taken place recently.

Bobby looks forlorn, head dipped low as he eats in silence. Sam glows with power, his whole being radiating with demonic essence. Dean, at least, looks somewhat chipper.

“C’mon, man,” he’s saying to the others at the table, mouth full of food. Sam wrinkles his nose and Dean laughs. “We kicked some spooky ass today, let’s at least call this a win.”

“I wouldn’t call the impending doomsday a win for us, boy,” Bobby says tiredly, adjusting his cap.

“Yeah, but we survived today, right?”

“Dean,” Bobby says with uncharacteristic seriousness. “The fact the Witnesses rose means a seal has been broken. One down, only so many to go until Judgement Day is upon us.”

Dean’s crestfallen look is quickly masked by more of what Castiel can now see is false cheer. His friend is strung tight as a wire, eyes nervously darting to Sam whenever Dean thinks his brother isn’t looking. Castiel sighs and settles in to wait for a moment alone with Dean.

***

This time, it’s Dean that finds him.

Castiel remembers their encounter was in the kitchen last time, but this time they stand under a blanket of stars, surrounded by rusted cars.

Castiel doesn’t bother turning around when he hears the _crunch_ of the gravel beneath Dean’s boots, already expecting his friend’s arrival after his his fleeting prayer earlier: _Cas, you got your ears on? Meet me outside of Bobby’s around midnight. Sure hope you’re not busy, buddy._

“How were the witnesses?”

Dean sighs. “Easier, this time. Knew what we had to do so we got it done pretty quick. I only wish—” He cuts off.

“You only wish..?” Castiel prompts, finally turning to look at him. Dean’s eyes meet his, irises shadowed in the low glow of the moon, hair limned by the silvery light.

“That we coulda gotten to people quicker,” Dean confesses. “A few hunters died today.”

Castiel nods, acknowledging the pain of their loss. A few moments pass before either of them speak again.

“How did you manage to get everything settled so quickly?” Castiel questions. 

Dean gives him a sidelong glance, still facing the silent lot in front of them. “How’d you know we finished up early?” Castiel doesn’t respond, so Dean continues, in a suspicious tone. “You spying on me, Cas?”

“No,” Castiel denies. At Dean’s raised eyebrow, he relents, mouth quirking up slightly. “I saw the three of you eating dinner and recalled it took longer last time.” Dean huffs, triumphant.

They let a few more minutes pass without saying anything. Castiel, for one, is soaking up the feeling of being near Dean, allowing himself to relax fractionally when so close to the bright-burning soul of Dean Winchester.

“I believe we should attempt to bring Anna into the fold.”

Dean wheels to face him. “ _Anna?_ Last time I saw her, she tried to kill me and Sam! What the hell, Cas?”

“She was your—friend, before, I thought? It was my interference that ultimately led to her betrayal.”

Dean mulls Castiel’s words over, before nodding once. “All right, all right. We can try to recruit her to our little dream team.” Dean laughs hollowly. “Team Free Will: electric boogaloo. This time, we’ve got a grumpy old scrapper, a current blood junkie, an amnesiac fallen angel, and two guys out of time. What could go wrong?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Castiel's view during this chapter.](https://imgur.com/a/Dw5r2HM) Chapter title is from Snow and Dirty Rain by Richard Siken. 
> 
> Bit short, so I apologize for that. I just wanted to put something out :)


End file.
